From Sibs Underground, Chapters 1 and 2, by R. R. Corvi
Double, double
Patri January 1
Judge Zeil spread her big hands on the barroom table, palms down. “You know this could get you killed,” she said. “They murdered Professor Yang. They tried to murder Lani. Now they’re worse.”
Patri took his shot glass between thumb and forefinger, pushed it away from him a couple of centimeters, slid it back. “I know.”
The judge examined him critically. “And how does that make you feel?”
“It scares me,” he said. “That’s all right. I’ve been scared before.”
“How very macho of you. When’s the last time you heard from Lani?”
He looked up sharply. “Five months. And a week. Why?”
She chuckled without mirth. “But who’s counting, right? Just wondering if you’ve gone suicidal on me.”
He took a careful sip from his glass. “Never crossed my mind. She’ll be back. When she’s ready.”
“Okay,” she said. “But just to be clear. Win or lose, your previous life ends now. Your degree is kaput. Your old friends will spurn you. You’ll hate your new ones. That’s how double agent shit works.”
From the street there came scattered shouts and cheers. The judge extracted an ancient railroad timepiece from her jacket pocket, looked at it, put it away. She picked up her own glass. With a grim smile, she gestured a toast in Patri’s direction, and tossed back her whiskey.
“Twenty-three thirty-seven,” she said. “Happy fucking new year.”
Digge Diary, January 2, 2337
Happy New Year to me! Big promotion! Been kicked from the D ranks up to B!
Sib[1] Barto, the woolly Grandfather of the Revolution, stroked out and died three days ago, and guess who’s his replacement? Me! I’m newly dubbed Sib Bu! No more Sib Digge!
Too many exclamation points. Gotta get a grip. How’s this: “Should be interesting.”
Better, I think. More Diggenified. Hehe.
Okay, okay. Enough. To business.
When I’m talking Revolution big issues, I’ll go by Sib Bu. But I’m keeping my Sib Digge identity too, for the time being. That’ll be convenient in a lot of ways. As Digge, people don’t have to kowtow to me, and I can make choices without making policy. Just have to avoid being seen in public in my Sib Bu role. Not a big problem—contact with us B-level big shots is pretty much all indirect anyhow.
As rumored, there is no A-level Sib running the whole show. Three of us make up the top cell. Spent most of today huddled with the other two, getting briefed. In broad, I already knew most of they told me, but in detail, I was blind to the names, jargon, goals, and schedules the upper echelon is working to. Some of what I thought I knew was wrong.
Main point: the top layer of Sibs command (the “Triad”) consists of us. Three B-level luvs. We each have our own areas of responsibility:
Sib Bine (Military, Industry, Logistics, Rail lines, Op Oswald)
Sib Blos (The Movement, Politics, Agriculture, Economy, Op Princip)
Sib Bu (That’s me!) (Propaganda, Communications, Security, Op Booth, Op Brutus)
The Revolution’s broad goals are as I always thought. To make society more fair. In the sense of assuring that the best people—the most productive, original, hard-working, dedicated, what you will—are recognized and rewarded in proportion to their value. In plainer terms, this means doing away with limits on personal and township[2] income and wealth, encouraging recovery of pre-Collapse technology much faster and more broadly than is authorized nowadays, and in general moving back toward a market-driven, capitalistic economy.
In terms of Eapy Fox’s three Es, this involves minor dilution of Fox’s notions about Evidence and Environment, but rejection of Equality as a public value.
Yup. Henceforth, some will for sure be more equal than others. And high-ranking Sibs like me will be just about the most equalist of all. Hard to believe I deserve that, but guess this isn’t the time to complain. Hurray for me.
Target date for the main action (Don’t call it a coup. Certainly not a putsch) is July 7.
This event is called “Prom Night.” Okay name, I think. Properly confusing. Not a dance, not a night.
There are four active operations leading up to Prom Night: Ops Booth, Oswald, Princip, and Brutus. I’m still boning up on the details of each. For now, I’d just say that, unlike “Prom Night,” I’m not thrilled about these names. Political assassins all. Strikes me as a jejune fascination with violence for its own sake. Adolescent primate chest-thumping.
I suppose septuagenarian Sib Blos invented these tags, one slow day while she mixed her cookie dough.
But please. I’d honestly like to know. Are we, the Triad, serious about this Revolution, or not?
[1] For the structure of the Sibs’ organization, as well as mapping between the street (public) and party names of individual Sibs, please see Appendix A at the end of this Volume.
[2] For the Union’s meaning and usage of the word “township” (abbreviated “twp” which rhymes with “soup”) see Appendix C at the end of this volume.